He wasn't the best-looking guy in the world, or even in that Bridgehampton backyard. He was four inches shorter than she was when she wasn't wearing heels; Eloise always had a pretty good view of the balding crown of his head. But there was just something about him. Or something about them that she couldn't imagine finding with anyone else. They'd gone home together that summer night and hadn't been apart since.
"I've got to hang up, Mom," Eloise said briskly, glancing at her watch.
"So is Wyatt still dating your girlfriend?" Ruth asked. She prided herself on staying current on the latest couplings, and thanks to a new rash of socialite-focused blogs, she could track everything from Duxbury.
"I wouldn't call Cornelia a friend. She's just a girl I know socially," said Eloise. "I've gotta go--"
"Well, I hope it works out. My friend Donna thought that if Trip ran out of single friends, settling down might strike him as the natural next step--"
"Mother!" Eloise had reached her limit. "Enough, okay? I'm going to be late."
"Fine, sweetie. Have a wonderful time on your trip. Call us if anything interesting happens," Ruth said in a singsongy voice.
"Thanks. But don't wait by the phone," Eloise answered, trying to sound lighthearted. After she hung up, she flopped backward onto her bed. She'd barely had time to breathe all week. A few days at the beach with her honey was just what she needed. Why was she being such a stick in the mud? It really was so thoughtful of Trip to plan it, to surprise her--
Why not? Eloise thought suddenly, springing up and heading toward the closet with purpose. She pulled out the wispy Alberta Ferretti dress she'd been saving for a special occasion, along with her fabulous white lizard Choos.
After all, a girl shouldn't be caught unprepared for a wedding proposal she's totally not expecting.
9
Oh, honey, no. When we first heard about the now infamous cater-waiter incident at Nola Sinclair's show, we cursed the fact that we weren't fab enough to see it in person. But then one reader took pity, and oh-so-generously sent us this photo. Not enough to make a positive ID, but hey, we'll take it.
www.fash-addict.com
11:56 PM
The Cherry NyQuil wasn't working.
Lucy Jo pointed her flashlight at an Idaho-shaped stain on her bedroom ceiling. Even that cheapo wine in a box her mother guzzled, which smelled like it could fuel a car, was out of her budget at the moment. When she'd found an old bottle of cold medicine at the back of her bathroom cabinet, it'd struck her as the luckiest thing to have happened in the two weeks since Nola's show. But it wasn't working. Despite having slugged down the better part of a bottle, she still could operate heavy machinery without exercising extra caution.
The 11:56 dragged its feet clicking to 11:57 on her '70s-era alarm clock. All the thoughts that had been bruising and bullying her all day refused to fade to black. Normally Lucy Jo loved to be alone--it gave her time to sketch--but tonight she just felt stuck with herself.
Thanks to an overdue electricity bill, she didn't have basic cable as a distraction--or light, for that matter, besides the jumbo flashlight she'd borrowed from the overgrown frat boys across the hall. Even before her public debacle at Nola's show, Lucy Jo had been living on the financial edge, waiting for her big, salary-raising break, juggling bills so she could pay the rent on her overpriced and pitiful studio, which she'd chosen because she wanted to live in the center of things.
Her cell phone rang--it was the one bill she'd paid since Nola's--and she lunged across the futon for it, idiotically hoping it was a potential employer. Calling at midnight.
"Will you accept a collect call from Rita Ellis?" asked the operator.
Lucy Jo inwardly groaned. Her mother. "Of course," she said. "Hi, Rita. How are you?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line. "I won't lie to you," said her mother, her voice gruff. "Been better.
"I've got to hang up, Mom," Eloise said briskly, glancing at her watch.
"So is Wyatt still dating your girlfriend?" Ruth asked. She prided herself on staying current on the latest couplings, and thanks to a new rash of socialite-focused blogs, she could track everything from Duxbury.
"I wouldn't call Cornelia a friend. She's just a girl I know socially," said Eloise. "I've gotta go--"
"Well, I hope it works out. My friend Donna thought that if Trip ran out of single friends, settling down might strike him as the natural next step--"
"Mother!" Eloise had reached her limit. "Enough, okay? I'm going to be late."
"Fine, sweetie. Have a wonderful time on your trip. Call us if anything interesting happens," Ruth said in a singsongy voice.
"Thanks. But don't wait by the phone," Eloise answered, trying to sound lighthearted. After she hung up, she flopped backward onto her bed. She'd barely had time to breathe all week. A few days at the beach with her honey was just what she needed. Why was she being such a stick in the mud? It really was so thoughtful of Trip to plan it, to surprise her--
Why not? Eloise thought suddenly, springing up and heading toward the closet with purpose. She pulled out the wispy Alberta Ferretti dress she'd been saving for a special occasion, along with her fabulous white lizard Choos.
After all, a girl shouldn't be caught unprepared for a wedding proposal she's totally not expecting.
9
Oh, honey, no. When we first heard about the now infamous cater-waiter incident at Nola Sinclair's show, we cursed the fact that we weren't fab enough to see it in person. But then one reader took pity, and oh-so-generously sent us this photo. Not enough to make a positive ID, but hey, we'll take it.
www.fash-addict.com
11:56 PM
The Cherry NyQuil wasn't working.
Lucy Jo pointed her flashlight at an Idaho-shaped stain on her bedroom ceiling. Even that cheapo wine in a box her mother guzzled, which smelled like it could fuel a car, was out of her budget at the moment. When she'd found an old bottle of cold medicine at the back of her bathroom cabinet, it'd struck her as the luckiest thing to have happened in the two weeks since Nola's show. But it wasn't working. Despite having slugged down the better part of a bottle, she still could operate heavy machinery without exercising extra caution.
The 11:56 dragged its feet clicking to 11:57 on her '70s-era alarm clock. All the thoughts that had been bruising and bullying her all day refused to fade to black. Normally Lucy Jo loved to be alone--it gave her time to sketch--but tonight she just felt stuck with herself.
Thanks to an overdue electricity bill, she didn't have basic cable as a distraction--or light, for that matter, besides the jumbo flashlight she'd borrowed from the overgrown frat boys across the hall. Even before her public debacle at Nola's show, Lucy Jo had been living on the financial edge, waiting for her big, salary-raising break, juggling bills so she could pay the rent on her overpriced and pitiful studio, which she'd chosen because she wanted to live in the center of things.
Her cell phone rang--it was the one bill she'd paid since Nola's--and she lunged across the futon for it, idiotically hoping it was a potential employer. Calling at midnight.
"Will you accept a collect call from Rita Ellis?" asked the operator.
Lucy Jo inwardly groaned. Her mother. "Of course," she said. "Hi, Rita. How are you?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line. "I won't lie to you," said her mother, her voice gruff. "Been better.
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